Not What It Seems
by bluntlittleinstument
Summary: The team is in Souix Falls attempting to solve a case that has local Leos baffled. They quickly realize the three "private detectives" from Kansas are not what they seem, and that Sam, Dean and Cas are hiding something that could solve their case. *I'm currently working on a re-write of this that will be without typos, and might, maybe end in a sequel.
1. Chapter 1

**A repost from my first account. This was my first fanfiction, and it killed me to delete it, along with the amazing people who had encouraged me from the beginning. Reviews are much appreciated!**

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Reid!" Lukewarm coffee splashes over the rim of the crappy Styrofoam cup as I jerk awake, amazed to find I had been sleeping standing up.

"What Morgan" I asked sleepily, attempting to rub the exhaustion out of my eyes.

"You fell asleep standing up Pretty Boy" I winced at the unspoken 'again' in his tone. So what I hadn't been sleeping much lately? None of us had. Not on this case.

"Did I snore?" The tense mood in the air dissolved a little as Morgan relaxed, leaning against the cream colored counter.

"Not much" He winked, standing back up to reach around for the coffee pot.

"I wouldn't, that's been sitting there since last night" Morgan winced, setting the ancient pot back onto the counter.

"Why is police station coffee such crap?" The snort that escaped my lips was not very gentleman like, a product of the lack of sleep I hope. "Kid, did you just snort?" I shoved my shoulder into his, rolling my eyes and sloshing even more of the crappy coffee onto my hand.

I saw Morgan freeze, staring into the doorway. I turned around slowly, attempting to re-gain some comportment.

"Having fun?" Hotch did not look pleased. I can't imagine he would be after almost a week away from Jack. "They found another body, same M.O and more or the marks. We're headed out to the crime scene now." He turned on his heel and I saw him head for the glass doors of the tiny Souix Falls police station.

"Another one? That's four in four days, this guy just doesn't rest." Morgan sounded as disgusted as I felt. We had been finding these bodies in random abandoned store fronts for the last week, all in normal everyday clothing, face up, giant wings scorched into the ground beneath them. They weren't particularly gory, but there was something unmistakeably disturbing about each crime scene, as if some horrible evil had marred the earth. Neither of us were eager to see an another.

"Lets hope he messed up this time." Morgan glanced at me, doubt obvious in his brown eyes.

"If only"

As we head out into the main room of the station, I glance at the numerous files strewn over multiple tables a shiver running down my spine. What is it about this case?


	2. Chapter 2

This body was even more disturbing than the last. Various techs milled around the scene, disturbing the quiet with their pops of flash and

shutter clicks. She is, well, was a middle aged woman, dressed in a fitting gray suit over a collared white shirt- middle class, white collar,

maybe a lawyer? She was laying as the others had been, her back flat against the floor of the empty room. There was a little essence of a

struggle but not much. Not enough that she could have put up much of a fight. Someone she trusted them. Whomever it was she let them

close enough to stab a knife through her heart. There was little blood, surprising for a stabbing. The most discomforting element, the scorched

wings, lay beneath her body, placed as if they were real. A message?

"Is this guy some kind of Satanist?"

"Nah, seems more like he's praising his victims, claiming them to be angels." I jumped at the sound of Prentiss' voice in the silence, not

realizing I had spoken aloud.

"Why would he kill them if they were angels?" Not that I believed in angels, I am a man of science after all... "what could he be using to scorch

the ground like this? It looks burned" I run my shaking hand through my hair, a nervous habit.

"A secondary agent. Something akin to gasoline. But it would have to burn slower to scorch like this. Paint thinner most likely." The gruff voice

shocked me into whipping around.

Standing in the doorway were three men. The first one, the man who had spoken was middle height and wearing the clothes of an

accountant. He seemed off, standing too strait, surveying the room as if he already knew what had occurred.

The man on his left was freakishly tall, taller than Morgan or Hotch. He seemed comfortable in his layers of plaid, even in the dry heat of

summer. He hardly glanced at the body, seeming to focus on the room.

The other man was beautiful. His features were perfectly aligned, a true Darwinnian god. His eyes were a shocking green for a brunette. He

seemed pissed off and focused on the body.

Hotch straightened, going all authoritative like he was wont to do. He glanced over the men, taking in what I had, worn clothes, haunted

expressions and at least four guns between them.

"Can I help you gentlemen?" His voice was harsh, not really offering help. The blue eyed accountant ignored him, walking over to the body to

kneel beside it. He seemed sad, leaning down to gingerly close the eyes of the victim. Must be a new guy. The beautiful one stared at Hotch

for a moment, judging him. His mossy eyes never left Hotch as he approached him and warily offered a hand.

"I'm Dean, the tall one is Sam and the tiny one, that's Cas. We're part of a private firm, we've been following cases like this for weeks now."

Hotch glanced back over them, looking doubtful.

"What firm?" Flat and monotone, he sounded every bit the leader.

Dean met his eyes, not budging.

"J.W. & Sons, it's a small firm run out of Kansas" He looked to the left when speaking, so, remembering facts. But what would private

detectives want with an F.B.I case?

The detectives followed us back to the station, their mud covered impala drawing an odd amount of attention and awe from the townspeople.

Jody, the local sheriff seems to trust the boys at first glance, odd when she still doesn't trust us. They looked familiar at the crime scene,

exchanging pointed glances over the body.


	3. Chapter 3

The detectives exchanged surprised glances after seeing our board and geographical profile, which included the out of state cases Garcia had found. Rossi kept glancing at them over his pile of photos, a sure sign they should be watched. I would have to ask him what he noticed later...

"Rossi, are you ready to give a preliminary profile?" Rossi jumped, not aware Hotch was in the room.

"Hotch do we really know enough about this guy? We have very limited knowledge and sending this taskforce in the wrong direction could let him slip away." Hotch sighed, loosening his navy tie. Morgan nodded in silent agreement, his hands folded over his lap as he reclined in the stiff plastic conference chair.

"We don't have a choice, they need information and it could end up being helpful." Brow furrowed in argument, Rossi reluctantly nodded, standing up and smoothing his jacket.

"Call everyone in." His voice was deep with exhaustion as he inclined his head toward Prentiss, who quickly left to gather the staff into the bullpen. The bullpen was sparsely furnished, and filled with an astounding number of shades of beige. Plastic potted palms dotted the intermittent corners in some designer's futile attempt to make the room seem personal. Amateur paintings of cowboys desperately lassoing cows dotted the light brown walls. It was hot despite the air conditioner, and I watched sweat beads form on the foreheads of the officers. The three detectives seemed immune, though they wore more layers than any of us. Morgan stood at the head of the room with Hotch on his left and Rossi on his right. Prentiss and I stood off the left with JJ who seemed increasingly uncomfortable. This angel thing was getting to us all. Morgan began to speak and the air in the room shifted with officers taking frantic notes or glaring defiantly.

" These victims have been both men and women or various sizes, and yet he has taken them all down with minimal violence. This leads us to assume he is probably male and in his late 20's- early 30's. The fact that he kills both men and women with no overkill or sexual assault means he is not sexually dependent on the crimes. However, he was able to get close to men and women form all walks of life in abandoned corners, this means that he has incredible social skills or he gains his victims' trust beforehand. It is likely he is middle class and can hold down a job. His coworkers and neighbors will never name him as a likely suspect, it is unlikely he is in our records. He leaves wings at each scene, giving the kills an obvious religious aspect. It looks as if he was painting his victims to be angels, which could either show remorse or mean he considers himself working for some anti-Christ force. The same blade is used in each crime, meaning he brings it to and from each kill, showing very little randomness. This guy is completely oriented on his task and is organized in this goal, though he may usually be mess." Morgan stepped back, rubbing the growing stubble on his head. JJ walked carefully to the front of the room, used to facing the curious eyes

. "This is all we have at the moment, and we will be keeping you updated as much as we can, thank you for your continued patience." She smiled, but the effect was lost on the unwavering crowd. The officers began to mill about and go back to their duties. The tall detective, Sam, approached me, weaving through a sea of uniforms.

"You guys got all that from seven crime scenes?" His facial expression marked him as impressed, though his body language told me nothing. Trained liar then.

"It takes time to learn, but these things are really the most basic elements of profiling, we really have almost nothing." Sam seemed almost pleased at that statement, causing chills to craw up my spine.

"Do you believe in angels?" Though it was an obvious question given the context of the cases, it still startled me and I felt my face give away too much my over-filled brain scrambled for a diplomatic awnser.

"No." Awesome. Very diplomatic Spencer, you're a real genius. I mentally kicked myself at Sam's highly amused expression.

"Just curious, I didn't mean any offense Mr.-?"

"Dr. Reid" I hardly realized I had extended my hand until he shook it firmly.

"Which Ph.D do you have, doctor?" He seemed impressed, as most are by my young age.

"Umm" How do I say this? "...All of them"


	4. Chapter 4

Something about the man seemed familiar as we spoke. Had I met him before? It was like déjà vu, as if I had seen him on the street somewhere. But I couldn't have worked with them before, I would have remembered! And the other man, Cas, didn't look familiar at all. And yet I couldn't escape the crawling sensation I knew them. If my eidetic memory were photogenic as well!

"All the '? You must be a genius. I studied law for a while, but after I inherited the family business I didn't have time." His eyes were sad when he spoke of this, some bad memory connected to the school. But he was much too big to have been bullied...

"I don't believe intelligence is accurately quantified, but in technical terms I am a genius" he laughed at the uncomfortable tone in my voice, sensing my discomfort with the subject.

" Where did you go to law school?" How did a guy go from law school to struggling private detective? I could see Dean watching us from across the room, his bright eyes unblinking. What an alpha male.

"Stanford." Shocked, I adjusted the strap of my messenger bag. Why pass up Stanford?

"Did your brother go there as well?" Maybe I had seen them during one of my lectures there, that would explain the déjà vu. Sam adjusted his jacket, face furrowed in concern.

"No, he, um, visited every so often."

"Oh, that's where I've seen you! I lectured there occasionally, I must have run into you." He turned white at my statement.

"Y-yes" he nodded, excusing himself and walking across the room to his odd. He seemed concerned... His question stuck in my mind. Why did he ask if I believed in angels? I mean, of course there are things in this world that cannot be rationally explained, but angels? The religion connected to that lore is too much for me to handle. I know what I saw when I died, but that must have been the effects of the Dilaudid, and any considerations what I saw draw my mind back to those days.

Shivers crawled up my spine as i turned to find Cas watching me. He did not look surprised when I locked eyes with him, merely kept his cerulean yes locked on me, a peculiar expression on his face. I began making my way over to him, wanting to ask him why he was staring.

"Reid!" I whip around to find J.J. regarding me, her blue eyes tightened with worry and suspicion.

"hm?"

"What do you think about these guys, they seem off.." She continued to twist her wedding ring around her finger, as she always did when she was nervous. "He hit on me, no professional would do that on a case. And I know he saw my ring." Air bubbled in my throat as I attempted not to giggle. Ma this case was making me wacky.

"Which one?" He inclined her head toward Dean and I'm surprised he didn't take her up on it, based on his face structure and muscle mass most women would have found him incredibly desirable.

"Maybe he was being friendly and you were just flattering yourself ." She raised her brow at my comment, slapping my arm lightly.

"Real funny Spence." I watched her walk away, glad were back to normal after the stress of the last few years.

A sudden hush went over the station as if someone had pressed pause. I looked up to see Hotch hanging up the phone his face grim.

"We just received a call from someone claiming to have to Angel Maker. We will consider this a hostage situation and treat it as such. SWAT was called , but due to the lack of concrete facts they have decided to stay out of the picture." The officers looked shocked, though we had already profiled his willingness to surprise. The detectives looked remarkably calm, as if they knew what to expect.


	5. Chapter 5

The warehouse was newly abandoned, hardly allowing the stench of decay to cling to its gray walls. The space was open and dark, a single window allowing enough moonlight in to illuminate a slight figure standing towards the back. Hotch motioned me forward, the stark white FBI on his vest his only visible feature. The two detectives stood not a foot behind him, the light reflecting off their unholstered guns, making them visible. Cas stood a bit in front of them, his head cocked inhumanly to side like a dogs. It was the least of his odd behaviors, and it was much more comfortable than his habit of encroaching on personal space. Even in the presence of a FBI squad, three unorthodox detectives and a police squadron the figure remained still, his back to us.

"Sir, you called us. You wanted to give us the Angel Maker." Prenitss' voice sudden, ripping into the quiet air. Of course they asked her to negotiate, leave the power with him, invite him to give us the unsub with minimal violence and her, as a woman she would be much less threatening. The man turned slightly, putting half his body in the shaft of light. He was wearing some odd type of uniform, red and white striped, dingy and topped with a hat.

"I have done a bad thing." He voice was soft and cracked, the voice of a broken man. "I have ruined them. I have killed my brethren. I am wrong." There was no hint of killer in his voice, no moment of pride or even acceptance of finishing a task. He was utterly remorseful and disconnected from the crimes, as if he had not committed them willingly. Maybe...

"What is your name?" My voice sounded squeaky amidst the quiet. But if I can get him to connect with me, to trust me, I can bring him in.

"Does it matter? I don't deserve to be one of them, and I am not one of you." His last word was a sob, his red and white uniform bobbing in the light. I felt tension behind me, the detectives were stirring, their body language tense and ready.

"One of whom?" The angels, obviously but if he truly believed he was an angel I could use it as a tactic to bring him in. My pulse throbbed in my neck, my already clammy palms were slick against the harsh leather of my gun holster. A motion from behind stopped me from repeating my question. Cas pushed his way in front of me, his trench coat a light spot in the dim atmosphere.

"I am...was an angel. They changed me, made me into theirs." Cas' body trembled in the faint light, shock clear on what I could see of his face. Hotch touched my shoulder, anxious. I could feel the tension radiate from every fed in the building. The presence of an unknown element was putting everyone on edge, turning the already stale air bitter with the acrid odor of fear and anxiety.

"You knew this would happen. It's why you killed me, isn't it Castiel." His voice was agonizing to hear, like the moment before a car crash, the still before the inevitable destruction. Who was this Castiel? I felt Morgan tense to my left, ready to jump into a fight if needed. Hotch moved to my left, his vest brushing my arm, starling me into losing my focus. My eyes shot to his hardly visible face, mouth tightened with concern, brows knotted with anxiety he was screaming 'do something' at me, all the while waiting for my inevitable flash of genius to solve out the situation. To rationalize this somehow.

"Sammandriel..." Cas finally spoke, the deep timbre of his voice echoing in the darkness, as if at the grave of his child, the pain of a thousand years behind his words. "I am sorry." It was all he could seem to say, the end breaking off in the horrible clenched tone of a strong man about to break. What the hell? Could Cas be short for Castiel? If it was, we were in serious shit. Two volatile elements in a takedown put everyone here in danger.

"Castiel." The shout left my traitorous throat before I could catch it, reverberating louder than i had thought. Cas and Samandriel turned at the same time, Samandriel to look at Cas aka Castiel, apparently, who was staring at me, open-mouthed and white-faced. I heard a gun cock behind me, and i slowly turned to find a very pissed off looking Dean pointing a gun at my head. Sam looked aghast, though it didn't stop him from pointing an unshaken gun at Jodi, who looked unamused. When he had moved, Samandriel had become completely illuminated, dirt visible on the white stripes in his wiener shack uniform, dried blood crusted on his face from what looked like holes in his forehead. His uniform was ripped and stained with blood from what looked like weeks of torture. A black stain resided over his heart, some odd substance covering an evident stab wound.

I looked back at Dean, his face whitening as he looked at Samandriel. Jodi looked confused as Sam lowered his gun in shock.

"What the hell Cas?" Dean removed his gun from the back of my head, tossing me an apologetic look. I'm so lost. Why did he move the gun? Who was this Castiel character and had he tricked Sam and Dean as well as us? "You told he had died. As far as I know, when you kill an angel he stays dead." Great. We're trapped in a warehouse full of three possibly schizophrenic gun carrying vigilantes, some back from the dead 'angel', and a bunch of small town cops, the leader of whom looked unpleasantly pissed.


	6. The End

Sam and Dean moved, flocking to each side of Cas, their weapons at the ready.

"I-I don't know, he must have been resurrected." Amidst the confusion I could hear fear emanating from him. What had gone so wrong? This was supposed to be simple. I could feel the herds of law enforcement shuffle behind me, anxious.

"They made me do it. They made me kill them. They wanted to get close, to touch, to see that I was really back. And I killed them. They hardly even struggled. They just looked at me. Staring so sadly. I can still see their eyes as their souls died, as they slipped away. It burns Castiel, it burns inside me. I can feel it, even now, eating away at me, as it shall continue to, until there is no me left, until I am one of them. They tire of waiting for him to get out of the box. They- they want a new angel to fall. A new lost boy, to lead them to the promise land. Another broken child to play this Daddy's toys." His voice was flatter now, sterile, the anger and pain seemed to burn away leaving nothing but a broken little boy. Swaying as he spoke, he looked ready to step forward, to give up.

My eyes flew to Cas, who was stooped slightly, stuck standing in the bent position of a man in utter pain who refuses to lay down. Dean rested a worn hand on his shoulder, glancing warily at the swaying man in the bubble of light. Jodi stepped forward, resting a hand on Cas' other shoulder, putting herself between Sam and Cas.

"We can help you, these boys, they can fix anything. They've saved the world, this town, my life, you can trust the-" Her soft voice broke off abruptly with the sickening crack of broken bones that sent the more junior officers into dry heaves. Samandriel was holding up a single bloodied hand in the direction of Jodi, who was staring so oddly, her neck hanging at the wrong angle for a human being. Shock was still etched on her face. How could I see her face? Bile began a lurching crawl up my throat as I realised why. Her body dropped easily, slamming into the ground, the only sound in the deathly still.

"Why" The word dropped from Cas' lips, not a question, his even tone a declaration, a promise. Everyone behind me was uneasy, he had just killed a woman, an innocent woman, with nothing more than a flick of his wrist. What could he do if pushed? If tested?

"You see Castiel, it's so easy. That's what they don't tell you up there. He wanted us to love them. The insignificant worms, the unenlightened, mere breakable flesh, nothing more than a pile of bones. They don't deserve him more than we do. That's why it's so easy. They want it. They run into danger, begging for it. Killing them, it's a joy." A slight smile tinted his expressionless voice a horrible color of crazy. Unblinking eyes followed every movement in the room, resting on the trench coat wearing man in front of me.

Could he actually be a-? An angel? That would make everything true, everything we fear, we hide from, all the noises in the dark, the monsters hiding in closets and under beds, real.

He moved before I could think, his coat barely flapping as he drew something from inside it. It glinted in the light, the silver reflecting off the light from the window. It was long, tapered to a point, some kind of ritual element? None of us could move, we stood mesmerized, immobilized by the sight. They squared off in the light, red against blue, tainted against pure, steel against flesh.

They moved with a liquid sort of grace, angular and muscled like the beauty of trained fighters meeting in a dance. Block for hit, top to bottom, a perfect match. Samandriel drew the same kind of knife from the depths of a pocket. The discovery of this item sent Sam and Dean into hypershock, their bodies shaking as their eyes never left the fight.

Cas was stronger, faster and better trained, but there was something about his opponent, a ruthless essence that disturbed the air around him, tainting it, killing the goodness that seemed to surround the man, to the point where it seemed to physically hurt him. Cas seemed hesitant, drawing at the end of his strikes, the actions of a man filled with regret for his task. Hotch's hand still rested on my shoulder, clenching every time Samandriel landed a blow.

Cas landed a blow that sent him sprawling to the ground, his hat flying through the dust, leaving a trail of blood from the wound it had been covering. It looked as if they had been drilling into his skull, peppering it with holes. He stayed down, chest heaving, eyes wide. Cas moved to stand over him, his eyes a mixture of sorrow and self loathing. His hand seemed to shake as he held the knife over Samandriels' heart, though he kept moving downward to let the tip rest directly where his heart would be.

"Please." The word that wrenched itself from Samandriels' mouth was broken, no longer unfeeling, the voice of someone who had lost everything and wanted nothing. Cas took a breath, his chest shaking, moving a hand to cup Samandirels wounded head, moving a bloody strand of hair behind his ear. The knife went in smoothly, Samadriels eyes widening as it pierced his heart. "Thank you." A slight smile pierced his lips as a bright light exploded throughout the room, forcing me to close my eyes. The pain was searing and all-encompassing, surrounding my eyes.

When I could finally force them open Samandriel was lying there, eyes closed hands crossed over his chest, wings burned into the ground beneath him. The three men were gone, the roar of their Impala telling me they had run for it. I had no desire to chase them with the body of Jodi Mills still lying on the ground where it had fallen and my mind in such turmoil. Angels. Huh. The rest of my team seemed to agree with as we formed a line, quickly exiting the scene so that the coroner could do his work. Nobody spoke. Nobody wanted to.

The plane ride home was quiet, everyone sitting in silent contemplation, pondering the same question I was. What else was out there?

"One is never afraid of the unknown; one is afraid of the known coming to an end."

-Jiddu Krishnamurti


End file.
